by Leia Stone
Again? I’m getting out the good whiskey, he texts back just as I turn on his street.
The moment I step into Ace’s condo, he greets me with a bro-hug.
“What happened?” he asks, handing me a whiskey on the rocks. I’m not a huge fan of hard liquor, especially in light of what’s going on with my dad, but I need to calm my nerves, so I drain the glass and pace his hardwood floors.
“The condom broke,” I say aloud for the first time.
Ace nods. “Been there. Fucking Trojan needs to up their quality control.”
I set the glass down on his coffee table and collapse into his sofa, placing my head in my hands. “How is this happening again?” I mutter.
“Is she freaking out?” I feel the couch dip as Ace sits beside me. He’s the only friend who knows that Autumn had an abortion before.
I look up at him. “I haven’t told her. I … it just happened, and her mom was home and … I ran out.”
Ace grins. “You had sex with her mom home?”
“Focus, man!” I shout, and he reaches out to place a hand on my shoulder.
“Bro, you got this. Just go down to the pharmacy and grab her a Plan B pill.”
Plan B.
Why the hell didn’t I think about Plan B? Relief crashes through me for a split second before it’s overshadowed with disappointment. I don’t want her to take a Plan B pill. Just like deep down I didn’t want her to get the abortion. We’re two consenting adults and the condom broke … whatever comes of it should be left alone … right?
But it’s Autumn’s choice too, and as much as I may be ready for the adult consequence of our actions, she is not. Her mother is sick and she is in a career crisis. This will stress her out. I can already see the look on her face when I tell her. She’ll close back down, never touch me again. But still, I owe it to her to tell her and give her the options.
“Plan B,” I say, turning it over in my mind.
“Tonya at CVS is really discreet.” He winks at me.
I roll my eyes. “How many times have you done this?”
He puts a finger to his lips. “You don’t want to know.”
I tap the packet of Plan B in my pocket nervously before knocking softly on Autumn’s front door. After picking it up from the CVS, I got Taco Bell and ate in my car while I went over fifteen different versions of whatever I would say to her. Then I texted her telling her that we needed to talk. I’m pretty sure I freaked her out.
She opens the door in her pajamas, hair tied in a top knot, and frowns at me. “Everything okay?”
I nod, motioning to the porch swing. She shuts the front door and follows me outside, the frown still in place. She sits next to me wringing her hands together, and I feel awful that she must be worrying about what I have to say.
“I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to blurt it out,” I mumble.
“Owen, what’s going on?” Her voice cracks.
“Tonight … before … in your room … the condom broke.”
Her mouth forms a little “Oh” and her eyes grow wide. “I see.” She shifts nervously, and just like that I can see every awful memory of what happened before flood her face. Post-traumatic stress is a very real thing, and it has a long memory.
I press on with my speech, pulling the Plan B out of my pocket and laying it in her lap. “I don’t know where you are in your cycle, but I wanted you to have this and to know that I support whatever you want to do.”
Out of all fifteen versions I ran through in the Taco Bell parking lot, this was what I settled on. It didn’t make her feel guilty; it was supportive; and it didn’t press my opinions on her.
She frowns, her eyebrows drawing together. “So, this is where you were tonight?”
I nod, swallowing hard, praying she won’t close up and leave me.
“It happened again…” she breathes.
I nod, a little relieved that she’s talking to me, processing things.
“Maybe we’re just destined to have a baby together.” I laugh nervously, and then regret it the moment her face falls.
“Is that what you want?” Her face is a mask of flat emotion. I can’t tell what she wants me to say. This feels like a trap. If I say yes, she feels like it’s all on her again to make the hard choice. If I say no, I’m an unsupportive asshole.
“I want what you want,” I hedge.
She crosses her arms and glares at me. “Owen, don’t do this again. Tell me what you want, not what you think I want to hear.”
She’s right.
I clear my throat. “I’d love to have a baby with you. No matter what our relationship turns out to be, I’d always be there to support you and the child.”
Her eyes widen like she’s shocked at my answer and I suddenly feel self-conscious. “But I mean, if you take the pill that would be fine too. Whatever you decide.”
She’s quiet for a moment, staring down at the package. “You’re a sweet man, Owen Miller. I’m not sure I deserve you.”
Her words crush me. What have I done wrong that she doesn’t realize her worth? That she doesn’t see how lucky I am to have her?
“Autumn, look at me.” I hold her gaze and she swallows hard.
“I stood drunk in your dorm room and called you a murderer in front of your entire floor. And you forgave me. It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”
Tears well in her eyes, before she chuckles. “Making friends was a bit of a challenge after that. Not gonna lie.”
She’s trying to joke but guilt threads through me as I reach out and take her hands in mine, pulling them up to my lips so that I can kiss her fingers. “This isn’t like last time. You have seventy-four hours to decide which path you want to take.”
She nods, and I can see the terrified deer-in-headlights look in her eyes.
“Want me to leave you some time alone? Or…” I want to be supportive of whatever she needs without smothering her.
She shakes her head. “Stay the night?”
Relief crashes through me. This time is different. It’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay. But I don’t like the way she’s looking at the cardboard pill box. Like she can’t wait until she’s alone so she can take it. Maybe that’s why she asked me to stay, so she can put off the irreparable decision for just a little longer.
I’m too scared to ask her what she wants to do about the situation … so I don’t.
Chapter 18
Autumn
I couldn’t sleep last night, even in Owen’s arms. I just kept thinking about that fucking pill in my purse.
Plan B.
More like Plan WTF.
How did I get myself into this situation AGAIN? It’s like Owen looks at me and boom, I’m pregnant. One session of wall sex in my childhood bedroom and a broken condom later and now I can’t sleep.
Owen’s chest rises and falls at my back in a hypnotic rhythm, but I can’t lie here any longer. Instead I’m thinking of sore breasts, swollen feet, and an adorable baby with Owen’s eyes and my smile.
Do I want a baby?
After the abortion so long ago, I hadn't allowed myself to dream of having a baby one day, in the way most women I know dream of it. It felt so out of reach, maybe even something not allowed to a person who'd made the kind of choice I had. You didn't want a baby back then? Then you don't get one ever.
That's not how the universe works, and I know that, but guilt is a multi-pronged weapon.
Instead of thinking of Owen and I in domestic bliss with a baby, I can’t stop thinking about everything going wrong in my life.
My mother is battling cancer for the third time.
I am jobless and in a small town that doesn’t exactly have a lot of opportunity for someone with my qualifications.
I just started hooking up with my high school sweetheart who ruined me for every other guy and…
I should throw a baby in there?
No. That would be crazy. Right? Maybe if my shit were more together … but at this p
oint Owen would have to financially support me and the baby and I never wanted that kind of life.
A kept woman.
I pull open my period predictor app for the fiftieth time and check the day in my cycle again.
Ovulating.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I feel like I can’t breathe. I need to go for a drive. The sunlight is just peeking through the curtains in my room and I know I have to get out of here before Owen wakes up. I can’t face him right now.
Stepping into my bathroom, I brush my teeth and pull my purse over my shoulder. Reaching into my bag, I pull out the Plan B and flip over the package.
When using this product you may have…
Nausea
Vomiting
Dizziness
Lower stomach pain
My eyes blur at the rest of the words. I poke my thumb through the package and pull out the tiny white pill, holding it between my fingers.
So small, yet this has the power to ensure I will not have a baby with Owen right now.
Or ever.
I have this inner knowing that if I take this pill, Owen and I won’t make it through.
I toss the cardboard into my trashcan and stuff the pill into the tiny zipper portion of my purse. Then I slip out of my bathroom, tiptoe through my room, and out of my house.
By the time I get to the open road, window down with crisp air whipping through my hair, I already feel better.
I shoot Owen a text in case he wakes and worries.
Couldn’t sleep, went for a drive. See you tonight for dinner? Your place?
I’m desperate to keep what he and I have going. It’s like I finally realized what it’s like to be happy. Happy New York City Autumn isn’t the same at Happy Sedona with Owen Autumn. He … makes me feel the most myself.
I don’t even know where I’m going until I pull into the church parking lot. The grounds of the church my mom goes to are so beautiful. They cut right into the red rock, and last Sunday I even saw an outdoor labyrinth.
Stepping out of my mom’s car, I lock the door and pull my hood up around my hair. The morning air is chilly but it feels good against my warm skin. I debate texting Livvie to see if she’s awake, but I’m not sure I want to bother her with this. This is heavy, and I don’t want to be the new friend who always brings the heavy conversation.
Instead I pop around to the back of the church and spot the small spiral of stones. The labyrinth. It’s just what I need, a meditative walk to clear my head. I heard once that if you bring a problem to the labyrinth, by the time you reach the middle you will have your answer or something helpful to guide you.
I start off at a slow pace, the entire time chanting one thing.
Should I take the pill?
Should I take the pill?
Should I take the pill?
Should I take the pill?
I get close to the center, only to wind back outward, and I realize this fucking labyrinth is a metaphor for my life. Get close to having Owen, then pull back from him. Close to having my mom healed, then she gets cancer again. Get job, lose job. As I near the center, I’ve picked up the pace and I’m no closer to having an answer to my question than I was when I came here.
“Autumn, is that you?” a familiar voice pulls me from my manic thoughts just as I reach the center of the labyrinth. I look up to see Pastor Greg standing in a jogging suit, holding a rake and tree trimmers.
My eyes widen. “Oh no. Am I trespassing? I’m so sorry.”
It was barely six A.M. and I hadn’t really thought about whether I was allowed to be here or not.
Pastor Greg smiles. “Trespassing? Goodness no. It looks like you’re trying to unravel a problem in your mind.”
My shoulders slump. “Is it that obvious?”
He sets down the rake and tree trimmers and motions to a bench.
I suddenly wonder if the labyrinth brought me Pastor Greg. You could talk to these people and they wouldn’t judge you, right? Wouldn’t tell on you either? They were like a lawyer and a shrink had a baby. With some God power thrown in.
I step over the rocks that make up the labyrinth and sit on the bench next to him.
“Lovely morning,” he says, looking out at the red rocks.
I gulp. Why of all places had I come to a church? And why of all people was the pastor out here during my mental breakdown?
“Really pretty,” I agree.
I’m not going to cave. I’m not telling him anything. I’m going to wish him a good day and then text Livvie.
“Do you think God forgives abortion?” I blurt out.
To his credit, he doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t even flinch. He just slowly nods his head.
“Of course. Our Heavenly Father forgives everything if you ask for it with an open heart.”
I'm still not even sure I believe in God, but hearing him say that I could be forgiven for something that has caused me so much guilt and grief … it lifts the burden from me in that moment. Maybe that’s what I need, to forgive myself. I was young, I made a choice I didn’t really think through, and I need to forgive myself for it. I did the best that I could at the time given my circumstances and what I thought I could handle.
“It’s something I did years ago…” I feel like I need to explain. “But now I’m in a similar situation.”
A tear slips from my eye and down my cheek and Pastor Greg turns to me. “Maybe try just letting things be what they will be.”
Be what they will be.
There was something comforting in that. Not trying to control every outcome, not trying to overthink the next twenty years of my life and see what they would look like with and without a baby.
Just be what they will be.
I nod, swallowing hard. “Sorry for unloading on you like that…”
He chuckles, deep and rich. “Nature of the job.”
As I walk away from my little chat with Pastor Greg, I know two things for certain.
One, I want this baby if a baby should come of it.
Two, I’m still in love with Owen and don’t ever want to lose him again.
Chapter 19
Owen
Two weeks.
Nearly two weeks of bliss with Autumn.
After finding the empty Plan B pill box in Autumn’s trashcan the morning after I gave it to her, my heart tore in two. I thought she’d taken it, thought she’d made her choice and I was going to have to live with the aftermath.
Again.
But then she came back from her drive and pulled the tiny white pill from her bag, handing it to me.
“What will be will be,” she’d said, and that was that.
We didn’t say another word.
Now it's like I'm riding on fluffy clouds of cotton candy and living my best life. The energy Autumn put into hating me when she showed back up, she now puts into being with me.
It's not just the sex, which is mind-blowing and constant, it's the conversation, the quiet time we spend together. It's like our relationship from ten years ago, before we fucked it up. I’m so comfortable in her presence; she feels like home and I keep waiting for something bad to happen and it all to be taken away.
Comparing now to before isn't even enough to capture it. It's us, Owen, and Autumn, but on steroids. Adults. Playing for real in the game of life. Before, we were just starting out on roads leading away from one another. We're seasoned now, we've traveled those roads. We've both had wins and losses, pain and triumph. The roads we went down eventually brought us back together.
Autumn hasn't told me her plans once her mom is in remission, and I've been too afraid to ask, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't constantly running through the back of my mind.
Is she going back to New York? She said her stuff was in storage there and it bugs me that she hasn’t had her things sent to Arizona.
As if thinking of Autumn summons her, my phone dings with the notification of a text message. We've been texting all day, but when I pick up my phone I see it's n
ot a continuation of our earlier conversation, but a photo of a watch, along with the message: You keep forgetting to take this back from my mom’s. I never took you for a two-tone metal watch guy.
The skin between my eyebrows forms a bewildered “v.” Very fashionable, but not mine, I respond, adding the thinking emoji.
She writes back immediately: What? If it's not yours, who does it belong to?
Your mom's secret lover... I hit send and smile at my joke.
Very funny, she says, and I imagine her holding the end of the word funny for an extra beat to drive home her point.
Autumn doesn't say anything more, so I put my phone back on the desk and pick up my fork. I'm in between patients right now, and I'm using the time to eat lunch. The first half of my day, I usually have appointments with my patients, and the second half I do rounds on patients who were admitted to the hospital for whatever reason. I love that working at the hospital as a staff oncologist with an office affords me the ability to do both. My next patient is new to me, so I'm in my office reading his history when Ace walks in without knocking. He sits in one of the two chairs in front of my desk and pulls a foil-wrapped sandwich from a white bag.
"How's it going?" he asks, unwrapping a Cuban sandwich and takes a big bite.
"Great," I answer, chewing a piece of the grilled chicken I brought from home. For the record, Ace's lunch looks better.
"Bet I know what's putting you in such a great mood these days." Ace's eyebrows pull up and begin moving in a way that can only be described as waggling.
I haven't told Ace about Autumn not taking the pill or that Autumn and I are so serious. Truth is, I don't know what exactly to call it. We've been enjoying being together so much that we haven't labeled it, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn’t starting to bother me.
I haven’t told my dad either. I probably should. The news would make him beyond happy, but I’m afraid he’d use it as a cause to celebrate. Which means get shitfaced. Not that he needs a reason. He’s made that abundantly clear, but I’m avoiding him altogether as much as possible right now.